The Congressman's Son: ACT II, PART V

CHAPTER TEN: EXPOSÉ

JEFFERSON SQUARE APARTMENTS
Alexandria, Virginia

Adrian pushed the door open with his shoulder, the weight of the day still hanging off him like a wet coat. The apartment was dark, quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner. He toed his shoes off, tossed his keys on the counter, and reached for the light switch.

When the room filled with light, he froze.

Alexander Blake was standing by the window.

No jacket, no tie, just his shirtsleeves rolled neatly to the forearms, the same calm, commanding posture that filled a room without trying. His gaze found Adrian immediately—steady, unhurried, unreadable.

Adrian’s pulse tripped. “Jesus Christ—what the hell are you doing here?”

Blake didn’t move. “Relax,” he said quietly. “I made sure you wouldn’t be disturbed. Paid one of your roommates to take the others out for the night. Dinner, drinks, whatever it takes.”

Adrian blinked, the words slow to register. “You what?”

“I needed to see you,” Blake said simply. “And I wasn’t in the mood for interruptions.”

The congressman’s calm wasn’t arrogance; it was ownership. He had already decided this conversation would happen—Adrian’s consent was a formality.

Adrian crossed his arms, trying to regain some ground. “You can’t just walk into my apartment, Alexander. This—this isn’t your space.”

Blake tilted his head. “Isn’t it?” He took a slow step forward. “You made it mine the moment you let me in.”

The words landed harder than they should have. The air between them tightened, thick with something that wasn’t anger but wasn’t forgiveness either.

Adrian swallowed, forcing his voice steady. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Blake’s mouth twitched—not quite a smile. “That’s never stopped me before.”

Adrian looked at him, exhausted and tense. “Is this even right?” he asked quietly. “You’re married, Alexander. I’m—what? The mistake you keep making? The home wrecker you sneak off to?”

Blake’s expression didn’t change. “You’re not a mistake.”

Adrian gave a bitter laugh. “Then what am I?”

Blake took another step forward, voice low and sure. “You’re the part of my life that reminds me I’m still alive. When I’m with you—when we occupy the same space—I can breathe. And when we’re in bed…” He paused, eyes locking on Adrian’s. “I feel unstoppable. Like the world goes quiet, like the sins justify the end.”

Adrian shook his head, trying to resist the pull. “You talk about it like it’s noble,” he said quietly. “It’s not—it’s selfish.”

Blake’s eyes softened but his tone didn’t. “No,” he said. “It’s inevitable.”

The words hit like a match to dry tinder. It’s inevitable. They pulsed through Adrian’s chest and lower, a heat that climbed too quickly. His mind screamed at him to back away, to end it here, to keep his promise to himself. But his body—the same body that betrayed him every time—was already tipping forward.

Blake reached out and set a hand at the small of Adrian’s back. The touch burned, patient but deliberate. Adrian drew a shaky breath, eyes falling shut. “We shouldn’t do this,” he managed, his voice barely a whisper.

Blake’s response came in motion, not words. His hand slid lower, slipping beneath Adrian’s belt and under the waistband of his underwear. The skin-on-skin contact made Adrian’s breath catch—his protest breaking in half, the word this falling clipped and incomplete. His head tilted back, eyes closed, a soft moan escaping before he could stop it.

Adrian opened his eyes, caught between instinct and surrender. He grabbed Blake’s arm, meaning to push him away—but before he could, Blake’s finger found its mark. The sudden jolt made Adrian release his grip, a helpless sound leaving his throat. His hands rose instead, clutching at Blake’s shoulders, pulling him closer than he already was. The congressman’s breath brushed his ear, steady and unrelenting, while Adrian’s composure fractured completely.

The congressman kept at it, slow and deliberate, every movement pulling Adrian further into free fall. His breath hitched with every press, every push. Blake’s voice came low, steady near his ear.

“What was that?” Blake murmured. “You want me to stop?”

Adrian shook his head, eyes half-lidded, his hips rolling to meet the rhythm. The deeper Blake went, the less control he had. He ground down against the motion, voice catching between want and surrender.

“Please,” Adrian whispered, the word barely formed. “Please don’t stop.”

“Tell me what you want,” Blake breathed, his voice a low rasp against Adrian’s ear. The words vibrated against his skin, a command wrapped in intimacy, urging him to give voice to the desire he could barely contain.

Adrian responded in kind, voice trembling but insistent. “I want you to keep touching me.” His words came out like a confession, raw and breathless.

Blake’s hand obeyed, tracing the curve of his hip, his thigh, slow deliberate circles that made Adrian shiver. Adrian’s breath hitched again, and he whispered, “Harder.”

Blake obliged, pushing deeper inside him. “Like this?” he asked, the question little more than a growl against Adrian’s neck.

Adrian gasped, nodding. “Exactly like that.” His whole body tensed, nerves firing as heat pooled low in his belly. He clung to Blake’s shoulder for balance, the scent of his skin mixing with the sweat between them.

Blake moved again, adding a finger to the mix, drawing a shuddering breath from Adrian. The air between them seemed to hum, heavy and electric, every movement dragging him closer to the edge of reason.

“Tell me when,” Blake murmured.

Adrian’s reply was a broken whisper. “You’ll know.”

Blake’s fingers shifted, deliberate, and suddenly he hit the spot that made Adrian’s entire body jolt. The breath left his lungs in a ragged gasp, his knees threatening to give out as heat shot through him. Every nerve felt like it was catching fire, pleasure twisting into something close to pain. He clutched at Blake’s shoulders, trembling, his voice breaking apart into low, desperate sounds he couldn’t hold back. When he finally caught his breath, Adrian’s eyes flicked up to meet Blake’s, dark with intent. He leaned forward, catching Blake’s mouth in a kiss that deepened quickly, hungrily, before sinking to his knees.

He traced his hands along Blake’s hips, thumbs circling just above his beltline, a wordless promise in his touch. Adrian’s breath came out warm against his skin as he began to repay the favor, slow and deliberate, tasting, teasing, the pace meant to unmake the man who had just undone him.

He unfastened Blake’s belt slowly, the metallic slide of the buckle breaking the hush between them. Pulling the belt free, he eased Blake’s pants down just enough to reveal the familiar outline restrained beneath his briefs. The sight hit Adrian with a rush of memory and heat—different tonight, the understated fabric somehow amplifying the tension. The simplicity of it, the nearness of it, sent a pulse of exhilaration through him. Adrian hesitated for a moment, acutely aware of the line he was about to cross—the weight of everything that should have stopped him. But when he hooked his fingers beneath the waistband and pulled down Blake’s underwear, every thought of betrayal, guilt, and consequence evaporated into nothing but want.

Blake’s cock sprang free, flushed and heavy, the kind of presence that commanded more than attention—it demanded reverence. Adrian stared for a beat too long, breath shallow, his fingers still curled around the waistband. There was a weight in the moment, an intimacy beyond the physical, something primal laced with something fragile. He leaned in slowly, the way a diver edges toward the drop, and pressed a kiss to the base—a seal, a vow, a sin he wasn’t ready to repent for.

Blake drew a sharp breath above him, fingers threading gently through Adrian’s hair. Just there. Steady. Present. Adrian exhaled, let the air warm him, let his lips part just enough to taste him. The salt of skin. The ache of memory. The weight of desire that had nowhere left to hide.

He took him in slow, deliberate, not just performing but committing—as if to say: if we’re doing this, we’re doing it completely. Blake hissed above him, the sound low and guttural, a noise that sent a pulse straight through Adrian’s core. Encouragement. Need. The loss of control from a man who never lost it.

Adrian set a rhythm, purposeful but patient. One hand braced at Blake’s hip, the other curled around the base for balance. He moved with intention, not for show but for sensation. Every shift of his jaw, every hollow of his cheeks, drawn from memory and instinct and hunger.

Blake’s voice dropped into a low, wrecked murmur—his hand flexing gently in Adrian’s hair, a stuttering whisper of his name. Adrian swallowed the sound. Took it into himself like oxygen. His own body responded with a throb of need he didn’t bother suppressing. There was no room for pretense anymore. Just heat and movement and the way Blake trembled slightly beneath his hands.

When Adrian pulled back, slow and slick, just to breathe, Blake looked down at him. Not with pride. Not with dominance. But with something close to awe. Like he couldn’t believe this was real. Like Adrian—down on his knees, mouth wet and red and wanting—was something sacred.

“Fuck,” Blake breathed, voice fraying. “You undo me.”

Adrian didn’t answer. He just smiled against the base of his cock, then swallowed him whole again.

And this time, Blake didn’t try to hold back.

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